And No Birds Sing
by ria95
Summary: And then she could no longer hear the Birds sing- Guy/OC. Time-travel fic. AU from Season 1
1. Part I

_"About as subtle as an earthquake, I know My mistakes were made for you"- My Mistakes Were Made For You, The Last Shadow Puppets_

* * *

 _London, 1939_

It was funny how in a moment your life could be changed forever. In the blink of an eye what you knew before would cease to exist completely and unexpected change would befall you- bereave you. And the worst was that once this change came, it was irrevocable. You could never return to what you knew before.

She would always remember the moment her life would be forever changed. Many autumns later when she was all rocking chair and wrinkly skin and weary eyes looking off into the horizon, she would reflect and reach the conclusion that perhaps her entire life had been devoted to that moment- that everything that came before in her life- the passing of her father, her mother's bitterness, her uncle's devotion- had only existed as preparation for that single moment. And with the passing of summers in her life, her mind would grow less and less sharp, but she would always remember that moment when her life changed.

It had been- to all intents and purposes- a conventional morning. She had been in the large drawing room of her uncle's manor, with her youngest brother perched on her lap and, surrounded by oak shelves that stretched from floor to ceiling, she had read Bilbo Baggins's confrontation with Smaug to him. The radio was playing the newest jazz song from America, but the brassy melody played by the saxophone was so low that the whistling from the sparrow nest just outside the window overtoned it.

She was just about to turn the page after doing her best impression of Smaug's snarl of 'Burglar' and passing her fingers tenderly through the golden hair of her sibling when her uncle came into the room. It wasn't his entry that startled her- it was more the nature of it. She had always known her uncle as a stern and composed man who exuded authority and wisdom from his grey-haired and tall frame. However this morning, her uncle stormed into the drawing room and his eyes were flashing wild and there was none of that dignified composure that she had always known of him. He turned the radio louder and instead of the jaunty melody from the American Jazz song that had been playing previously, she suddenly heard their Prime Minister's grave voice: "... consequently this country is at war with Germany."

And then she could no longer hear the birds singing.

Historians have labelled the Second World War as a Total War and have in turn defined that label as 'a war which encompasses an entire nation'. The bespacled and balding men would clarify that the First as well as the Second World War made great demands on the country's economy and people, demanding the full use of the country's financial resources for the four to six years each of them laste, where even civilians fought in the war and had their lives transformed.

She would read those words years later with her wrinkly fingers passing over the black ink on white paper. She'd always loved words and reading and writing with her entire heart; her devotion to books and stories since an early age had been passed on to her from her late father and what had endeared her to her stoic uncle. But reading that simplification of that period of her life would seize her heart with causticness and she would snarl, flinging the book away from her with hatred and resentment filling her heart. And for the first time in 63 years she would realise the destructive power of simplification that words had.

Because no words would ever be able to justly explain how her life changed after Neville Chamberlain's declaration of war.

No amount of words would ever be able to accurately describe the worry she'd felt when she'd seen her uncle positively collapse into his chair with a vacant expression after the Prime Minister's announcement, words couldn't explain the fear she'd felt in her heart when she had to watch her oldest brother drive off, wind tousling his fair hair and him standing proudly in his green uniform.

Words couldn't describe the numbness that had gripped her when she held her weeping mother, the same woman who'd been indifferent to her since she had been five years old after her father's passing, who mourned the loss of her favourite child, having received a phone call that her son had fallen in battle.

Words couldn't describe the despair she'd felt when she ushered her youngest brother on the train, him only five years old, which would take him to the countryside and hopefully away from this damned war.

No words could ever replicate the tightening of her heart when he'd held onto her waist and softly muttered: "Promise me you'll come back for me" and she nodded her head.

And no words could describe the transformation she had undergone after that morning. Her mother and her aunt had always criticized her for having her head in the clouds and her nose in a book, which was a true waste of her beauty according to the older women.

There was no time for her books and her stories, for Peter Pan and Alice and The Mad Hatter, for fantastic tales of war and knights in Shining Armour, for stories of courtship and courtly, romantic love, for heroes and villains and fair maidens and ballads. There was no time for any of that during the War.

But one morning when she was in the bathroom and she looked into the looking glass- it was two weeks after her brother's burial- and realised that it wasn't only her childish fancies for stories that she had discarded during this time. Whereas before her brown eyes had always shined with the innocent and gay light of youth, they seemed harder now and much too old for her youthful, sixteen year old face. She was encompassed in the war- completely: not only her body as she trained and later worked as a nurse in the soldier hospital in West London, but also her soul.

No words would be able to describe how she had to grow up much too soon and much too abruptly at fifteen years old.

* * *

 _London, 1942_

"Come, my dear, just one more spoon," she coaxed in her soft voice to the grey-haired man before her. He in turn, was shaking his head vehemently with a touch of childish petulance while tightening his lips. She sighed when he spat: "You already said that one spoon ago. Stop trying to make me eat." He was glowering at her and she, in defeat, lowered the spoon back to the still-full bowl of soup. Figuring she would only incense her uncle if she continued to insist and would not get him to eat anymore, she rose from her chair by his bedside and proceeded to make to leave.

She stopped with her hand on the handle of the door when she heard him demand: "And tell Julia to come up to see me. It's Wednesday and she will be sorely disappointed if we don't read on in 'Great Expectations'."

Julia swallowed heavily before giving a sharp nod of her head and pressing down the door handle, she left the room. A buxom and matronly woman was standing oustide the door with her kind, warm face tightened with worry. Julia gave her a small and sad smile before she whispered: "I managed to make him eat half a bowl. We will try for more later, Ms. Dixon." The woman in question gave her a slow and sad nod of her head before she took the bowl from her hands and they proceeded to go downstairs to the kitchen.

While Ms. Dixon proceeded to busy herself finishing the preparations for lunch, Julia reflected on her uncle's sickness. And despite being in the medical profession and having gathered much knowledge on it in the past three years she had worked beside physicians, she couldn't help but blame the war for her uncle's sickness of the mind. The man she remembered as so authorative and proper had been on a steady decline since that morning he'd collapsed on the chair. And now he was only a shadow of himself, childlike in his petulance and the innocent questions he'd ask Julia.

"Has my mother rosen," she asked after taking a sip of water. Julia knew the answer before she'd asked in truth and so it came to her as no surprise when the older woman nodded her head 'no'. A sigh was the only response that came from her and she rose, informing Ms. Dixon that she would be out, running some errands in town. As she fastened her overcoat and her hat, the woman eyed Julia worriedly and whispered: "Be careful, Ms. Julia."

The streets were deserted and the London that Julia grew up in was diametrically opposed to the vision of bereavement currently before her eyes. In her childhood memories, the streets were always frequented with vendors, elegant women, playing children, and suited men on their way to work. The air around her would be saturated with the sound of honking from cars, the unintelligible noise of various conversations around her and the smell of cooking food. You would walk on the pavement and be stopped periodically by vendors trying to lure you into their shops. And to her left and right, the streets were lined with cobblestone houses that all looked the same.

And now, there was an unnatural stillness around her.

She wasn't the only one to walk the streets, there were others but whereas before their steps had been languid as they enjoyed their outing, the passerbys now positively stormed past her in their hurry to get back home in safety. A few shops were open but the vendors no longer stood out in the street, gayfully calling out to random people but were inside. And a lot of the shops were barricaded and closed. And the air around her was still and frosty.

She was currently selecting some chamomile to cook her uncle tea later when the stillness of the air was broken by a loud and repetitive noise that echoed in the cobblestone street. The blossoms fell from her hand. Her spine straightened.

And she took off running.

She did not know where to go.

She had never been here when an alarm sounded and she didn't know where the closest bunker was. But she ran and the few people that were outside with her were running in the same direction as her. She didn't know if they knew where to go either. Or if they were just running like her- just for the sake of it. Just because they had learned that when the alarm sounded you start to run.

She tripped over an overturned stone on the floor and landed roughly on her knees. She gritted her teeth against the stinging originating from her knees and her mind screamed at her in tune with the repetitive wail of the alarm that she needed to continue running. She needed to get to safety.

Just as she was about to rise, she felt someone taking her arms and hauling her up. She looked up at the source of assistance and saw an older woman with startling green eyes and a wild, disheveled mane of hair pulling her up and towards the right-hand pavement. And in an accented voice the woman told her: "Come, lass. My shop is just here we can get to safety there." And Julia was so winded because of the fall and the unexpected help from this stranger that she offered little resistance to the woman's pulling and before she could gather another thought she was inside a small and stuffy shop whilst her helper was bolting the door shut.

She became aware that she was locked in an unknown shop with an unknown woman and she became very wary and proceeded to take a step back. The woman whirled around as soon as she was done with the door, her black hair wildly twirling around her, and gave Julia a gentle smile: "There. Now we just wait until they announce that it's safe to go back out again." The woman then proceeded to stalk past her and Julia blinked her eyes at the strangeness of the woman. Now that the woman was no longer at the door, Julia turned around and for the first time took in the rest of the shop.

Had she been three years younger and had the war never occured, she would be starry-eyed with wonder. And even despite everything that happened to her, Julia could not help but to feel a tendril of enchantment as she looked walked deeper into the shop and her eyes took in the dreamcatchers around her which hung from every inch of the ceiling. It was like she was in a sea of those delicate structures of feathers and thin yarn. She raised her hand, allowing the tips of her fingers to breathe past a particularly beautiful one made of ivory white yarn with a white feather. She took in the other items which were on display and though they were all different, one thing they had in common were that they were all exotic and peculiar and she'd only read about some in books and had never ever seen one in real life before. And her brown eyes took them in greedily. The shop was peculiar and strange just like its owner but it was equally as wonderful by being so.

Julia suddenly stopped and was standing before a large mirror which hung from the wooden wall. The glass was clear and she could see her full tiny figure clearly in it but it was the frame which drew her eyes. It was bronze and looked ancient and was carved with several figures. And it was almost too much input for her, so her eyes focused on the carvings at the top of the frame. And it showed three women, working with yarn. One was unrolling it, while the other sat at a spinning wheel, processing it. And the third was cutting the wire. And it reminded her of something. Some story that her uncle had told her.

Her mind was so preoccupied with trying to recall what the figures reminded her off that she didn't see the woman who had saved her approaching her from behind in the reflection. She only took note of the woman's arrival too late. Her spine straightened as she saw the woman's determined expression and just as she was about to whirl around, she felt someone pushing her. She lost balance and fell forward and she was bracing herself for the painful impact with the mirror's surface.

But it never came.

She kept falling and falling.

And just like her childhood heroine, Julia fell through the looking glass.


	2. Part II

" _And in the back room of a bad dream she came And whisked me away, enthused"- My Mistakes Were Made For You, The Last Shadow Puppets_

* * *

 _He arrived home to find his eight-year-old niece sitting at the doorstep at the front entrance to the manor._

 _That wasn't an unusual sight as she would often search out the front doorstep with a book and spend the hours before dinner reading in another book from his collection._

 _But there was no book before her and his niece's lovely face was twisted into a sulk. He came to a stop before the steps and as soon as she caught sight of his walking stick, she looked up. He furrowed his brow as he took in her bloodshot brown eyes and asked her what the matter was since she had clearly been crying._

 _He was aware that at a young age it was not unusual for children to cry when they felt sad- and his niece had more than precedent to be sad. But despite what had befallen her at such a young age, he'd only seen young Julia crying once before- it had been during one of his evening talks with his widowed sister-in-law when she'd declared that William was her favourite as 'it's the eldest a mother always thinks of'. And at that moment he'd looked up to find his youngest niece standing at the doorway to the dining room, her large nightgown engulfing her small frame and tears streaming silently down her face._

 _He asked her what the matter was and she mumbled- and at the sight of her sad face he couldn't even bring himself to correct her for mumbling- that today her teacher had announced who would play what role in the christmas play her school was staging._

 _It was a production from Baum's 'The Wizard of Oz'. "I'm playing the Wicked Witch of The West," she mumbled, drawing her knees to her and lowering her head as if she was confessing doing something wrong. He usually didn't have patience for such banal and childish matters, but, and he would never say it out loud- it didn't really need saying- he adored his niece; her sharp mind and thirst of knowledge had endeared the six-year-old to him when she'd first come to live with him after his brother's death, and he listened patiently to her complaints._

 _"I wanted to be Dorothy or The Good Witch," she mumbled and afterwards swallowed as she repressed the urge to cry. "Everyone will tease me, because I'm the evil witch," she mourned._

 _And he realised something about his niece._

 _Despite being exceedingly intelligent for her age she had that narrowdness of mind that made even the smartest of people ignorant. She only saw things black and white, there was no in between for her. He took a deep breath and disregarding his business suit, he proceeded to sit down at the step beneath hers. He looked down at his niece and stated in a grave voice: "Julia, I will teach you a lesson now and you have to promise me you will never forget it."_

 _Her brown eyes were wide- surprise at her uncle's uncharacteristic behaviour- and she wordlessly nodded her head, her eyes already curious at the wisdom he would pass on to her._

 _He urged her: "Julia..." And she whispered: "I promise, uncle."_

 _And her eyes were shining with childish innocence and her voice was clear with truthfulness at her promise and then he leaned down to her as if telling her a great secret: "There is nothing in this world that is entirely good or entirely bad." He nodded his head as if reinforcing his words. And her eyes lightened with realisation._

 _He gave her a sad smile and whispered: "And that is the greatest thing I can hope to teach you."_

* * *

She woke up to darkness.

The ground beneath her was moist and as her fingers flexed, she grabbed leaves and realised that she was on a bed of them. Slowly, as her head was pounding, she sat up and looked around her. Everything was still too dark for her to make out the scenery around her, but the air smelled of moist grass and dewy leaves and she figured that judging from the ground beneath her she had to be in some sort of forest.

She was utterly confused. Because the last thing she remembered was walking through the cobblestone streets of London and then wading through a sea of dreamcatchers and then falling and here she was: In a dark, cold night in the middle of nothingness.

Her urge was to get up and walk- run- as fast as she could to escape this blackness. Sitting here, not knowing where she was made her feel like the helpless little girl, she no longer was. And she hated feeling like that, regressing back to that position. She wanted to get up and run. But what would that have brought her? She didn't know where she was and in the darkness there was no means for her to navigate herself out of the forest and her situation. The only thing she would achieve would be to get deeper and deeper into the dense growth.

And then she would truly be lost, if she wasn't so already.

Giving a low sigh of defeat, she laid back down on the moist leaves and drew her knees to her chest. And she waited. And for the first time in three years she started to pray. The prayers were said in her head and they were haphazard at best. Because she had not prayed since that announcement had come over the radio. She'd no longer known who to pray to. She figured that surely god had turned his back on them at this time. And it was only because her mother had been so religious and she had grown up in a strict religious education that she still knew how to chant the old prayers. And eventually night turned into day and when she cracked open her eyes it was no longer dark.

She sat up and looked at the clearing which had been bathed in night the last time she had looked at it, but now was illuminated with a green light as the sun shone down upon her through the canopy.

She stood up and her bones ached and she proceeded to make her way through the forest. And despite knowing that she still had no sense of orientation despite it being day and light, she continued walking. Because she knew she would eventually have to. She would achieve nothing lying in that clearing like a foetus, reciting prayers that had been empty for her since a long time.

Still she could not help but feel despair as she made her way through the forest and everything was the same, every tree appeared just like the previous one to her and she almost had the feeling that despite walking she was not moving and making her way- that she was staying in the same place despite her efforts.

And then suddenly, behind a thick wall of shrubberies she saw light that wasn't green in its tinge and her heart seized and she quickened her step and after making her way through the wall shrubs, she was standing at the edge of the forest overlooking a wide field and rolling hills at the northern horizons.

And that little voice in her mind that was still fifteen year old and young and innocent and so incredibly idealistic whispered that this must be what the Shire looked like.

She almost feel to her knees in relief that she had escaped the forest. But she knew better than to chant her triumph before the right time. Because eventhough she was now out of the oppressive growth of the forest, she still found herself in an unknown and uncivilised landscape that she had never before seen in her life. So she proceeded to make her way and her feet carried her due true north. And as she breathed in, she realised that the air around her was so light and free.

She'd lived in London her entire life, but not even when her uncle had taken them to the countryside for his sixtieth birthday had she breathed such pure air.

And her crossed arms fell to her sides.

And she tilted back her head as the sun shone down upon her.

Her legs and feet worked harder as she reached the incline of the hills she had seen when she had been standing at the edge of the forest. Her feet were aching from the tightness of her shoes and halfway up the hill, she sat down on the moist grass and proceeded to unlace her leather boots and take off her white socks and then she was barefooted and her mother and her aunt Gardenia would have screamed in terror at the impropriety of it all, her feet bare and touching the moist grass, the hem of her dress caked deep in mud.

And her heart beat in elation.

A gust of wind flew past her and carried with it a piercing scream.

It made her freeze in her tracks for a moment: that disruption of such an idyllic moment.

And then she ran the rest of the way up the hill.

And from her vantage point up the hill, she looked down at a small hamlet. It was a collection of houses- rather, straw huts and in the middle of the hamlet there was an assembly of people. Julia looked on in confusion. These people, from what she could see from her position, were rather odd and peculiar, dressed in beige and antique-looking garbs that reminded her of that drawing of a medieval scene her uncle had shown to her once. Truly the whole scene she looked down upon seemed like something from her books.

She crouched down on the ground to remain invisble to the assembly and then she heard a snarling voice announce: "Disclose the location of Robin of Locksley- outlawed and now known as Robin of the Hood- and nothing bad shall befall you." And her heart stuttered in her chest.

What witchcraft was this? Robin of the Hood was the hero of one of the legends she had so long ago abandoned. A noblemen who stole from the rich and gave to the poor under the tyrranous reign of the Sheriff of Nottingham. In the times of King Richard Lionheart. Who ruled approximately at the end of the twelfth century. Her mouth grew dry with horror as she tried to make sense of what she had just heard.

Her thoughts were interrupted by another exclamation- this time the voice was deeper and more booming and it caused a shiver to race down her spine: "Loosen your tongues or lose your tongues!" Her eyes looked down at the crouching people who faced two dark figures on horses which were flanked on either side by a row of guards in steel armour and her eyes disbelieved what she was seeing.

And it surely had to be a inscenation. Some community who was so obsessed with medieval times and its heroes that they decided to act out a possible scene.

But then one of the guards came forward as none of the people responded to the two dark figures' demands and pulled a person from the crowd. And the person started to scream and it was so believable that her gut wrenched. The guard forced the person down to his knees and one of the dark figures descended from its horse and stalked towards the kneeling person with measured, powerful steps.

And he brandished a blade which shone in the morning sun. And the person was still screaming. And the dark figure seized the person. And the person screamed louder. And his screams grew louder and more pained. And she had to resist the urge to cover her ears at the despair. And then there was silence. And she had to cover her mouth with her hands otherwise it would be her screams replacing the ones from the person who now no longer had a tongue. And the dark figure stepped away from the person who without the support crumpled to the ground in a mass that no longer looked human. And the dark figure dropped something on the ground. And she heard the sound of crows hawking. And she realised that this was no act. And she wondered if she was truly going insane.

If instead of rolling, green meadows she wasn't lying crouched on some abandoned cobblestreet in London in her time. And if she was just imagining all this, truly driven mad from the bereavement of her time.

She lay on her back, having turned away from the grotesque scene and she looked at the sky above her with wide eyes.

She had arrived at the realisation that somehow she was in Medieval England.

It was like something out of the stories she had loved so much as a child. But this was reality. And she was living this. And the maddening realisation made her numb and imperceptible to anything else.

She barely registered that voices rose and there was a commotion behind her in the small hamlet, before everything went silent once more. And when she finally came to once more- she hadn't even realised she was unconscious- the sun was high in the sky and the skin on her face burned from the prolonged exposure of her ivory skin to the ray of the sun. She sat up and after a moment of despaired reflection, she decided to tred her way back down the hill and due south.

She knew from the little she'd seen that the hamlet she'd come across was not a place she wanted to be in. With no place to go she proceeded to wander aimlessly- just like a cloud, as her uncle's favourite poet would say- alongside the edge of the forest.

* * *

 _It was Friday and she was sitting cross-legged at doorstep, eagerly awaiting his arrival. Propriety prevented her to jump up and bound down the steps towards the man when she saw her uncle exiting his black automobile and arriving back home to the manor._

 _His grey eyes were immediately drawn to her and she knew by the quirk of his lip that she was wearing a large and eager smile._

 _It was Friday and after her uncle had finished his business down at the Wharf he would always return home with a book for her. He entered the house past her, as he always did and she followed him, with measured footsteps that belied her childish enthusiasm, to his study._

 _And as soon as he had shrugged out of his overcoat and had made his place comfortably at his desk, he handed her a wrapped package._

 _She took it from him, graciously thanking him and she had to control her fingers which longed to just rip apart the brown paper which encased the book. But she opened it with the amount of decorum she could manage. And she looked down at the moss book cover._

 _Her uncle explained to her as she passed her hand reverently over the green binding: "It's a collection of ballads about Robin Hood, the hero of Nottingham." Her lips quirked into a small smile as her uncle continued: "He steals from the rich and gives to the poor."_

 _Julia would spend the next days reading the ballads with enchantment and wonder, immersing herself in the world of the Earl Robin Hood, who was outlawed by the villainous Sheriff of Nottingham. She would read about fair Maid Marian, his lady love and about his band of outlaws: Friar Tuck, Little John who was anything but little and the singing minstrel Allan-A-Dale. She read about Guy of good Gisborne in his capull hyde and the various plots of the Sheriff to capture Robin Hood and how the latter always outsmarted him._

* * *

She didn't know how long she had walked for when she was startled out of her memory by a sound and she recognized it as horse neighing.

She looked to her side to see a beautiful white stead looking at her, standing on the gravel road. There were two pairs of eyes regarding her and she looked towards the second pair. And sitting on the back of the horse was an equally beautiful woman who was looking at her with her face scrunched in confusion. And she could understand the source of the woman's confusion. Because the woman was dressed in medieval garb that even to her eyes indicated her station as a noblewoman due to the finesse of the material and the precious gems around her neck. And Julia... She was still dressed in her green overcoat above her dress and the difference in style between their way of dress was so obvious and was like a glaring indication that Julia didn't belong here.

The woman seemed to come to some sort of decision and proceeded to dismount from her horse. With her reins in her hand, she approached Julia like one would approach a frightened doe. Julia supposed that this was the impression she was giving, of a frightened and shy animal who was just waiting for the smallest of precedences to jump up and away, she had even taken a step back when the woman had dismounted from the horse.

The woman raised her hand placatingly as Julia eyed her suspiciously and with a soft and rich voice stated: "It's alright. Who are you? I am sure that I have never seen you before in the county of Nottinghamshire." And with that there was another piece of evidence supporting this mad theory of Julia's that she somehow indeed found herself in Robin Hood's Nottingham.

The woman was looking at her expectantly but Julia dared not say a word in fear that were she to even utter a syllable she would somehow incriminate herself. She was well aware of the accusations of witchcraft that were raised during this time and the heinous consequences that awaited those accused.

The woman gave her an encouraging smile and stated: "I'm Lady Marian of Knighton." And Julia's eyes widened with realisation. And she had to hold back from inhaling sharply at the revelation so as to not alert the woman that she was familiar with her.

The woman's beautiful features adopted an expression of pity and Julia had to stop herself from bristling at it and the woman whispered: "Are you dumb?" Julia looked to her side and let her silence be the answer. Despite her pride begging her to speak out and nullify the woman's assumption, she figured that it would be best to allow the woman to wallow in her belief.

She startled when she felt Lady Marian taking her hand and she looked toward the taller woman who was smiling gently at her and stated: "Come you seem to be lost and aimless. Come with me to Knighton." Julia was stepping back, unwilling to do what what she had asked because she didn't want to get involved with this- with any of it, fearing that if she did, she would never return be able to return home- Perhaps that's why she wandered so aimlessly, she searched for a way to go back to her uncle and to her little Edward. Seeing the girl's reluctance, Lady Marian tightened her grip on her hand and beseeched: "Come. Night will fall soon. Stay in Knighton at least for the night."

And Julia proceeded to study her face. And there was no trace of malice or second intentions visible. And because she seemed so genuine- or maybe because Lady Marian was the only thing that she knew in this place, even if just as a character in a story- she gave a short nod.

And the woman's face spread into a smile. She offered little resistance after that when Lady Marian proceeded to pull her along, their hands still clasped, and after a short walk they arrived in Knighton.

It resembled the hamlet she had seen before with the small, straw huts and the people in grey and brown garb, going about their way with wicker baskets or wooden pails. But one thing which was different from the previous settlement was the absence of the two dark figures. And that was the thing which instilled a little relief in her heart.

Lady Marian finally came to a stop before a small chapel and stepping in, she curtsied and crossed herself like a good Christian before she called to the Friar standing at the altar. "Dearest Friar Tuck, I have a lonesome wanderer with me who seeks refuge in Knighton. Will you take her in?"

She studied the man who she had read ballads about and his gentle wrinkly face coupled with his small and portly frame corresponded exactly with the image her mind had painted when reading about him.

The friar inclined his head and stated: "The church does not turn away anyone in their hour of need. I will gladly take her in as is my command by God." Then he turned towards her and with a gentle smile he asked her: "What is your name, child?"

Marian answered: "She does not speak, Friar Tuck." He nodded his head in understanding before fully turning to Lady Marian and proceeding to discuss something which Julia tuned out of.

She would go to sleep later, lying on one of the wooden benches in the chapel with a thin blanket covering her and with her eyes trained on the hay roof of the building. And her heart would be tight with fear and premonition of what was to come.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you for all the feedback on the last chapter. You know the drill: Read, Favourite, Follow and review if you liked this chapter. I very much appreciate it.**


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